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Mcmi&teist anti Hue 



POEMS BY 



HELOISE SOULE 



^^ 




BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER 

1904 



Copyright, 1903, by Richard G. Badger 
All Rights Reserved 



THE LIBKARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Tvu COH,dS R|eC6IVED 

NOV n \mi 

CLASS dtXXa 130. 



/ OOl 



COPY 



*i 






Printed at 
The Gorkam Press 
Boston, U. S. A. 



CONTENTS 






PAGES 


The Song of a Shell 


5 


The Lotus Leaf .... 


6 


Unlocked. ...... 


8 


Seventeen 


10 


Girl Graduates 


11 


Acrostic . . . . . 


11 


In Camp — A Memory 


12 


My Hopes 


14 


Faith, the Guide of Life . 


16 


Hymnus De Passione Domini . 


22 


A Hymn to the Cross 


23 


Jean Francois Millet 


24 


The Evening Angelus 


25 


Ein Feste Burg .... 


26 


To Young Mothers .... 


27 


The Stone and the Thorn 


28 


A Riddle 


30 


No Tears 


31 


Reflection ..... 


31 


Edelweiss 


32 


Resurgam 


33 


" And after the Fire, a Still Small Voice ' 


34 


To With Flowers in Winter 


35 


The Soul's Counterpart . 


36 


The Uncoined Word 


37 


After Song 


38 



THE SONG OF A SHELL 

My little one with ear attent 

And rosy lips apart, 
I pray thee tell what magic spell 
The sound within this fragile shell 

Is weaving round thy heart. 

It murmurs of the ocean grand, 

Strange fancies of the sea ; 
Of a fairy home beneath the foam 
Where mermaids gay with glass and comb 

Are gliding merrily. 

It tells of pearls and mosses green, 

Of coral islands fair. 
Of birds that rest, with snowy breast 
On sailing ships or billow's crest 

Or skim through sunny air. 

It speaks of storms and lashing waves, 

Of monsters fierce and grim, 
Of sunken gold and jewels old 
And wrecks of many a vessel bold 

In caverns weird and dim. 

Whispers it nothing low, my child, 
This shell from the ocean strand, 

Of One who guides each ship that rides, 
And holds the winds and waves and tides 
In the hollow of His hand? 



THE LOTUS LEAF 

Long in rhythmic song and story 
Has been told the mystic power 

Of the pearly lotus-blossom, 
Of that weird Egyptian flower, 

Which from every passion freeth 
Save the pleasure of the hour. 

Many an Oriental fancy 

Twines about its ' fruit of fate' ; 
Often are its snowy petals 

Carved in stone of olden date. 
Sacred, in the Eastern annals, 

To the memory of the great. 

But for neither fruit nor blossom 

Known to mythologic lore. 
Nor for any fragile beauty 

Praise I thee, — but something more. 
Which by those who sing thy praises 

Has been overlooked before. 

Fair upon the river's bosom. 

Floating palaces they rest, 
While beneath them broad and shining 

Lies the leaf, — its filmy vest 
All unwet and pure and stainless 

Though by running waves oppressed. 



As it floats and dips and rises, 
Neither soil nor stain it bears, 

Catching now and then a dew-drop, 
Only more of beauty wears. 

Fresh and dry amid the waters 
Strength and pureness it declares. 

Oh, brave heart, with love invested, 
Undefiled with stain of wrong. 

Winnowing from care and sorrow 
Only what is pure and strong, 

Unto thee the joy and triumph 
Of the conqueror belong. 



UNLOCKED 

Fairy fingers, frosty cold, 
Touched a rivulet one night, 

Covered it w^ith fold on fold 
Of a blanket, fleecy white. 

Hushed its merry, babbling song, 
Chased away the sheltering fern, 

Left it, all the winter long, 

Bound in fetters strong and stern. 

Lost it seemed and gone for aye, 

All its joyous singing o'er ; 
Kissed no more by wind or sky, 

By the shining sun, no more. 

But the streamlet better knew, 

Nor at all did it despair. 
Trusting In the promise true 

Of dear Nature's tender care. 

Quiet in its icy bands. 

Listened for the birds to sing, 
Waiting for the pitying hands, 

Of the never-failing Spring. 

Now at last with gentle mien. 

Carrying her golden key, 
Comes old Winter's lovely queen, 

Comes to set his captives free. 

All along the quiet glade, 

Where the brook, with beating heart, 
Listens, almost half afraid. 

Bud and leaf begin to start. 



Hark ! She comes. With loving glance 
Bends above the frozen stream, 

Frees it from its weary trance 
Till its waters dance and gleam. 

Pencilled shadows of the fern 
Shelter now the brook again. 

Velvet mosses, too, return ; 
Blossoms follow in the train. 

Azure-petaled innocents, 

Golden-eyed and pure and sweet, 
Step, amid the grasses dense, 

Down the bank, with dainty feet. 

Violets of blue and white 

Shed a subtle, faint perfume, 

Anemones, with swayings light. 
Nod and bend in happy bloom. 

Yellow cinquefoil trails along, 
Creeping closer to the brink. 

Little birds forget their song, 

Running here and there to drink. 

Till the brook, quite mad with joy. 

Laughing, frolics on its way 
And with glances sweet and coy 

Sings its last year's roundelay. 



SEVENTEEN 

Beauty beyond compare 

My half-blown rose doth wear, 

Hiding yet hinting at her glowing heart ; 
No other point of time 
From bud to royal prime 

Such tender grace and promise can impart. 

Then let no rude hand dare 
To touch my blossom rare, 

In haste those yielding petals to unroll, 
Till heavenly dew and sun 
Their slow, sweet work have done, 

And this shy mystery has found her soul. 



GIRL GRADUATES 

The birds are bringing summer from the South 
All fresh and redolent with odors rare, 

She comes to smile upon our halcyon youth, 
To make these fast-departing days more fair. 

On those whose school-girl days are nearly past, 
She bends a tender glance of half-regret, 
The world they now must enter is so vast, 
Their paths with such uncertainty beset. 

The care-free time returns to them no more. 
The wide world beckons with mysterious look ; 

New tasks must be begun, unlearned before. 
Life is the lesson and the world, the book. 

Eager to be and do, they follow her, 

Nor knowing whither she their steps may lead ; 
Or if of joy she is the almoner. 

Or if of sacred sorrow's strengthening meed. 

And ere they quite have entered on the strife, 
The gracious, pitying summer comes again, 

And to our prayers of blessing on their life, 
Utters a glad and jubilant " Amen." 

ACROSTIC 

To 

N — ew and mystic days are thine, 
I — n thy heart let trust abide, 
N — othing fear, a hand shall guide, 
E — very day new hope will shine. 
T — ender thoughts of thee shall rise. 
E — arnest words for thee be said, 
E — ver think thy steps are led 
N — earer to the blessed skies. 

11 ' 



IN CAMP — A MEMORY 

The wind is whist, the world is still, 
Mysterious midnight calmly rests 

With sombre veil and presence chill 
On hoary Greylock's lofty crests. 

A radiance falls from many a star 

O'er hemlocks tall and darkling pines. 

And from the azure depths afar 
The silver moonlight softly shines. 

The mountain streamlet ripples on 

And, tripping, falls from stone to stone, 

While weirdly, ever and anon, 
The owlet cries, afar and lone. 

Upon the dark and shadowy screen 
The camp-fire throws its ruddy light, 

While in and out are dimly seen 

The gleaming tents of ghostly white. 

In blue and scarlet gaily dressed 
The merry camping party throng 

About the fire with song and jest 

Or break the sleep of night with song. 

(Song. Tune — Nut Brown Maid.) 

■Bright camp-Jire, thou hast a ruby, ruby glow ^ 
Bright camp-fire, thou hast a ruby glow. 
The ruby glow is thine, Jire, 
The light and warmth are mine^ J^^^t 
Bright camp-Jire, thou hast a ruby^ ruby glow, 
Bright camp-Jire, thou hast a ruby glow. 



1 



Bright ca7np-Jire, thou sendest up a million 

sparks, 
Bright camp-fire^ thou sendest up gay sparks. 
The waltzing sparks are thine., J^f^^ 
To watch the dance is mine., fi'>'^-i 
Bright camp-Jire, thou sendest up a million 

sparks^ 
Bright camp-Jire., thou sendest up gay sparks. 

Bright cajnp-Jire., thou diest do%v7z to embers red, 

Bright camp-Jire, thou diest dow?z at last. 

The efnbers red are thine., Jire., 

The pictures in them, mine., Jire., 

Bright camp-Jire., thou diest down to embers red.. 

Bright campjire, thou diest down at last. 

The laughter dies, as dies the fire, 

And sleep soon claims her peaceful thrnoe, 

To streamlets' song and hemlocks' lyre 
The mountain-top is left alone. 



rs 



MY HOPES 

When first with courage high and valor bold, 
The royal-hearted Alexander went 

In fiery-veined ambition uncontrolled 
To win the countries of the Orient, — 

Disdaining luxury and loving power. 

The regal treasures of the crown he shared 

Among his friends, while of his princely dower 
A meagre handful for himself he spared. 

Alarmed at such a prodigal display 

A wise old general who long had served 

His youthful master, cried in great dismay 

" What has thou for thyself, oh king, reserved ?' 

With proudly scornful gaze and flashing eye. 
As daring foes with whom he gladly copes, 

The haughty monarch made but one reply : — 
" I keep, oh faithful Perdiccas, my hopes.^' 

When first with stirring heart and purpose strong 
We enter on the battle-field of life. 

We, too, for conquest and for glory long 
And feel our pulses bounding for the strife. 

We, too, reserve our hopes and spurn defeat. 
We, too, reject the cautions of the wise. 

And on the goal where fame and honor meet 
Fasten with confidence our longing eyes. 

A few, indeed, may gain the height they seek. 

A few, like Alexander, win the prize. 
But where the many tread the ground doth reek 

With blood and heave with unavailing sighs. 



14 



And yet for those who pure of purpose fail, 
For those who see their fairest dreams depart, 

Who never find the mystic Holy Grail 

There still remains a comfort for the heart. 

A strength which Alexander never knew 
May still be theirs whatever ill betide 

If they but keep their hopes still firm and true 
And in that stronghold to the end abide. 

Keeping for theirs the watchword of the king, 
One day a meaning shall be found for them, 

A glory greater than the earth can bring, 
A brighter crown than Philip's diadem. 



FAITH, THE GUIDE OF LIFE 

A Class Poem 

Dark discord o'er Life's mystic harp had ranged, 
That harp first framed in hope with joy im- 
pearled, 
Until there came from Heaven, self -estranged, 
The Master of all harmony, and changed 
The key-note of the world. 

Beneath all jarring tones of after years, 

Has ever sounded one triumphant chord. 
Till stumbling pilgrims rise from earth-born fears, 
And listening martyrs smile thro' anguished tears 
In dying for their Lord. 

While musing thus, in rapt and dreamy mood, 

Of lives heroic, sung in legends quaint. 
Bright spirits throng upon my solitude. 
Visions of brave and lovely womanhood. 
Of hero, martyr, saint. 

'Mid clouds of pearl and gold they pale and glow, 

Ethereal presences of shimmering light ; 
And as they float around, above, below, 
They seem like angels of Angelico, 
Touched with a living might. 

St. Ursula, the wise, whose garments shine 

With brightness, as a firmament of heaven, 
Leads forth her thousand virgins — jewels fine, 
Set star-like in the diadem divine 
By her great Master given. 



16 



Veronica, who wiped the bloody sweat 

With kerchief white from off that anguished 
Brow, 
And saw thereon the Vera Icon set, 
Through eyes with tears of grateful worship wet. 
Bears the true image now. 

Enrobed in light stands St. Elizabeth, 

Who blessed the poor with raiment and with 
bread, 
While sweeter than her roses' perfumed breath. 
The fragrance of her gentle mercy saith, 
" See thou the poor are fed." 

St. Barbara leans from out celestial towers. 

Her soul full-bathed at last in Heaven's light. 
St. Dorothea, with the fruit and flowers 
Plucked for our sakes in fairer fields than ours, 
To teach us faith by sight. 

Her foot upon the deadly dragon set. 

Triumphant thro' her virgin innocence. 
Pearl-garlanded, stands Maiden Margaret, 
Showing to all who strive and struggle yet. 
The cross of her defence. 

Rose-crowned Cecilia with her " listening eyes," 

In unison with angels sweeps her lyre ; 
Flooding the air with rapturous melodies, 
" Thy Will Be Done " — the only strains that rise 
From that celestial choir. 

St. Helena, St. Agnes, St. Therese, 

Amid the throng with heavenly halos shine, 



17 



~l 



While open-browed, with looks that seem to bless, 
Stands forth the school-girls' loving patroness, 
St. Catharine, the benign. 

Wisdom and strength and sweetness round her 
cling, 
The book, the wheel, the palm, the crown she 
bears, 
While on her outstretched hand, all glittering. 
The Bridegroom's gift, the consecrated ring. 
With holy awe she wears. 

" Across the centuries," I hear her say, 

"Dear girls, I send my thoughts to you to-day. 

All things in nature take a happy hue : 

The birds are singing and the skies are blue, 

The waters sparkle and the sunbeams play, 

The breezes toss the willow's emerald spray. 

The wind-blown wild-flowers run, to charm the 

eye, 
Octaves of color, perfumed harmony, 
And rugged mountains, draped in dreamy mist, 
Show the fair purple of the amethyst. 
Your wine of life is running sweet and strong ; 
In every heart hope sings some quiet song. 
Mysterious voices call from distant height, 
And thrill the pulses with a strange delight ; 
For woman's heart is still the same, I know. 
That woman's heart was centuries ago. 
As the frail lotus rides the haughty Nile, 
Queen of its rushing waters, so the while 
I ruled my people, — none upon the earth 
Prouder than I in beauty, wisdom, birth. 
And yet, till white-winged Faith had flown from 

heaven 
And to my heart a wondrous power had given, 

18 



To see the hidden things of Paradise, 

I had no beauty in my Bridegroom's eyes. 

And now, by deadly dragon, cruel wheel, 

By sword, by fagot and by naked steel. 

By lilies, roses, harps and crowns and palms, 

By martyr's prayers and victor's glorious psalms, 

Through all that comes to try or comes to lure, 

I pray you learn to do and to endure. 

The testing-time has come, as come it must. 

Your lives are yours to hold in sacred trust. 

No feet but yours can tread that narrow line 

That leads a woman's life to the divine." 



The lovely visions fade. Away, away. 

On wings of song they vanish from my view ! 
There comes again the dawn of sober day, — 
But evermore new love and longing stay. 
And aspirations new. 

These saints, I thought, embalmed in legend lie ; 

The ages since have swept us onward fast ; 
Our Western lives can not be measured by 
Their " cloistered virtues," martyr piety; 
Those centuries are past. 

Our lives in this new world are broader far. 

With larger scope for action and for thought. 
The golden gates of Progress stand ajar. 
And through them rolls the great triumphal car 
Of freedom, dearly bought. 

Our woman's freedom means not idleness, 
Rose-tinted luxury, and silken ease ; 



19 



With added privilege comes added stress, 
And need for lives of truer nobleness, 
In nobler times like these. 

Upon what dragons must we set ow feet ? 

What fires must we endure ? What crosses take ? 
What wheels may rend us ? What soul-scorching 

heat 
Of what dread conflict are we called to meet 
And conquer for His sake ? 

The purifying fires of pain and grief, 

The life-long conflict with a wayward will ; 
The cross of sorrow, which has no relief. 
The torture-wheel of doubt and unbelief. 
Are cause for struggle still. 

Before us now the pleasant valleys lie. 

Beyond, the far, cold heights, in softening mist. 
Here bloom for us the Rose of Charity, 
Lilies of Hope and Faith and Purity. 
Come, pluck them all who list. 

And carry them in never fading bloom, 

Through all the hidden years that lie before ; 
Shake out to all the world their sweet perfume. 
To heal its sadness, lighten up its gloom. 
And teach it trust once more. 

The Master comes and calls for thee, and thee. 

His voice is sweet and low, yet firm and strong. 
Come. Take my yoke upon you. Learn of me. 
And when your work is done, your eyes shall see 
The rest for which you long. 



20 



Ah, what a golden link will ever keep 
Us bound to that eternal rest above. 
Yea, so He giveth His beloved sleep, 
And bids us follow her, through death's dark deep. 
To everlasting love. 

We will not slight that bidding or forget 

The radiance falling from that opened door. 
Nay. We must follow, till we all have met 
Where shadows flee, where suns shall never set 
On that eternal shore. 



21 



HYMNUS DE PASSIONE DOMINI 

Translated from the Latin of Bonaventura 

Let Heaven highest praises bring 
And earth her songs of gladness sing, 
To magnify our Saviour, King, 
Who bought us by His blood. 

May all the suffering Thou hast borne, 
The bleeding side, the cruel thorn. 
Our hearts to Thee in sorrow turn, 
And lead us home to God. 

By scourgings, spittings, stripes and scars, 
Jesus, the maker of the stars. 
The gates of heaven for us unbars 
And bids us enter in. 

Fill us, oh Saviour, with Thy love. 
Grant us eternal joys above. 
Oh faithful to Thy promise prove 
And cleanse us from our sin. 



22 



A HYMN TO THE CROSS 

Translated from the Latin 

Hail, thou ever-blessed Cross, 
Death is overcome through thee, 

There hung Christ to cleanse our dross, 
King and Saviour both to me. 

Queen of every tree thou art, 

Balm of our salvation free. 
Solace of the burdened heart 

Which in sorrow flies to thee. 

Holiest of all holy vs^ood, 

Emblem of our noblest life. 
Thou has borne a fruitage good, 

Food for souls with trouble rife. 

When thou judgest from above 
Friends and foes of thy blest tree, 

Jesus ! Saviour ! then in love. 
Pity and remember me. 



JEAN FRANCOIS MILLET 

True artist-peasant, grinding from the soil 

The colors for thy palette ! Barbizon 

Drew thee from Paris and the gay salon 

As steel, the needle. Poverty and toil 

Thy birthright were, and ne'er couldst thou despoil 

Thy soul of its stern heritage to don 

The livery of the rich, or feed upon 

The smiles of those who would thy purpose foil. 

In thy heart's blood didst dip thy pencil true. 

And by the alchemy of love divine, 

Transmuting it to tints of living hue. 

Wrought out in faithful colors, line by line, 

Through want and misery and pain and strife 

The perfect story of the peasant life. 



THE EVENING ANGELUS 

While we gaze on fields that cover 

Sunny-hearted France, 
Where the song-birds wheel and hover 

In a mazy dance 
Listen to a simple touch of peasantry romance. 

Gold and crimson sunset-flushes 
Slowly turn to grey ; 
Twilight with her gentle hushes 
Lulls the weary day ; 
Lightly o'er the heated meadows, cooling breezes 
play. 

Humbly to their labor bending 

Norman peasants twain 
Gather fruits of earth, — till sending 
Surcease from their pain, 
Subtly stealing through the distance comes a soft 
refrain. 

Hark ! A silver bell is ringing. 

Far and faint and clear, 
Sweetly, musically bringing 
To the listening ear 
Sounds that waken aspirations which the angels 
hear. 

'Tis the angelus of even 

Calling all to prayer, 
Winging sacred thoughts to Heaven. 
See ! — this lowly pair 
Quickly bend in heart's devotion to the Virgin 
fair. 



25 



Angel of the Lord of Glory, 

As the mother mild 
Heard with awe from thee the story 
Of her heaven-born child, 
Tell us now that through this Saviour we are 
reconciled. 

Oh ye simple Norman peasants, 

Teach thy faith to us ! 
May we in His holy presence 
Stop and worship thus 
When the Spirit's faintest whisper sounds its 
Angelus. 



EIN FESTE BURG 

Red flash the torches o'er the regal hall. 
Where clad in gorgeous, jeweled robes of state. 
The German lords in solemn awe await 
A monk's response to an imperial call. 
"Luther — by your reply you stand or fall ! 
Are these books yours ? And will you cease to prate 
Against our Holy Church, the true, the great? 
Will you renounce your errors, — once for all ? " 
Firm in his faith, by earthly power unawed, 
Pale stands the humble monk in that dread place. 
And utters, in his scorn of papal fraud. 
The trumpet-note of freedom for the race, 
" The books are mine, the truths therein from God, 
Here do I stand. God help me by His grace." 



26 



TO YOUNG MOTHERS 

Do artless eyes, reflecting heaven's blue, 

Look into yours for all their trust and hope ? 

Do small, white hands that else would blindly grope 

Amid world-darkness, tightly cling to you? 

Ah, mothers, — patient be and strong and true 

To God's divinest mission. Heaven's pure cope 

And earth's fair forms their wondrous mysteries ope 

Before thy little child, — a rapture new. 

The lily is no purer now than he, 

His dewy freslaness from the rose he stole. 

Then let no false world-standards taught by thee 

Fall like a blight across his unspoiled soul. 

Pray for high faith and love and purity 

That thou may'st show him Heaven's highest goal. 



27 



THE STONE AND THE THORN 
I 

SISYPHUS 

Is all my toil in vain, 
And must I ever live my life for naught? 
Is all this striving with such anguish fraught 

Never to end except in endless pain? 

The hill itself is hard 
Had I no load to struggle with besides, 
But oh this stone^ which all my strength derides 

Which thrusts me back and keeps me bruised 
and scarred. 

I yet will win the goal. 
Another trial, stronger yet, shall tell. 
I surely yet can breiak this cruel spell 

And earn the right and freedom of my Soul. 

Beyond, the sunlight falls. 
The waving plains with fairest green are dressed. 
There peace is found. There I at last shall rest, 

Freed from the bondage which my life enthralls. 

Success ! Success at last ! 
I see the hill-top just before me now. 
One struggle more, — I reach the mountain's brow. 

And all this toiling is forever past. 

Alas ! the gods forbid ! 
The glorious hope within my grasp, I fail. — 
The stone resists. I stagger and grow pale ; 

Down to the very bottom I have slid. 



28 



\ima^ 



II 



Why, why was I thus born? 
Shall I ne'er be, while drawing mortal breath, 
Delivered from the body of this death. 

This flesh-consuming thorn? 

Oh, wretched that I am ! 
Must I still bear this dread infirmity ! 
This messenger of Satan buffets me 

With power almost to damn. 

Have I not sacrificed 
My flesh in pains, in perils, fastings, thirst, 
Could I not even wish myself accursed 

For others' sake, from Christ? 

Yet how much grander power 
To scatter wide and deep this gospel-seed 
Were mine if from this thorn I could be freed 

But for a single hour ! 

Thrice have I sought the Lord 
In whom I live and prayed for quick relief. 
He surely will compassionate my grief 

And speak the healing word. 

I listen for His voice 
And lo, he speaks, " Bear thine infirmity. 
My grace is all-sufficient, Paul, for thee. 

In weakness, Still rejoice." 

Anew, I'll gird my sword. 
Through Him that loved me more than conqueror 

be. 
I thank my God who gives the victory 

Through Jesus Christ our Lord. 



A RIDDLE 

" To an unknown JFoe." 

I send to thee a token 

Of a heart to thee once dear, 
Now crushed and bruised and broken, 

Now penitent, sincere. 

'Tis but a leaf of laurel, 
A gift not worth the name, 

All brown and sere and withered, 
All scorched as if by flame. 

But, — 'tis a leaf of laurel 
That fell from Dante's brow^. 

Perchance such grace may make it 
A w^orthy gift enow. 

How came I by such treasure ? 

I found it, friend untrue. 
As through the dark Inferno 

I wandered — led by you. 

So now I toss it to thee, 

This little leaf of fate. 
The symbol of the triumph 

Of thine incarnate hate. 



30 



NO TEARvS 

Thank God, all ye who weep ! 
Ye only know the name of dry despair ; 
My barren waste, my arid desert bare, 
Is watered by no tears that gently creep 

From underneath the lids. 
Soothing the soul again to ancient calm, 
No crying comes to me for healing balm, - 
Nature her common solace me forbids. 

Think not I never wept ! 
'Tis only that the fountain has run dry ; 
And bare beneath the burning, sultry sky 
The blasted desert of my heart is kept. 



REFLECTION 

Pale moon that with thy gentle, holy light. 
Doth dreamily our sun -lost world illume. 
Shedding thy radiance athwart our gloom. 
Dispelling the dread darkness of the night, — 
How desolate and lone in thy far height 
A cold, dead globe thou wanderest ! In the tomb 
Of the far past, lies all thy life's fresh bloom, — 
Thine heart's own fire all quenched in bitter blight. 
The thought has filled mine eyes with sudden tears. 
And taught a blessed lesson to my heart. 
I, too, through desolate and dreary years. 
To sun-lost ones who have nor guide nor chart. 
Groping toward morning light 'mid darksome fears, 
Something of light and gladness may impart. 



31 



EDELWEISS 

'Mid cold and storm on frozen height, 

Alone with snow and ice, 
Pure star-flower, linking heaven and earth, 

My white-souled Edelweiss. 

It grows so meek, 'tis set so fair. 

With velvet petals fine ; 
Its " soft defiance " yet can dare 

On Alpine peaks to shine. 

'Twill be my flower of all the world. 

And in my heart be laid. 
To teach it in this frozen clime 

To dwell still unafraid : 

This cruel, cruel wintry blast, 

Alone, alone to brave. 
Nor fear, when Death shall come at last, 

To lay it in the grave. 



RE SURG AM 

Pain leads us by the hand 
To the pale gates of Death ; 

She makes us glad to stand 
And fail of vital breath. 

Pain takes away the sting 
And victory of the grave. 

She makes of it a thing 
To bless us and to save. 

Oh pain, the way is long, 

Hasten, I pray, 
Show me where doth belong 

My grave, to-day. 

Blindfold, I lay my palm 

Alone in thine; 
Teach me some regtiiem-psalm, 

Some strain divine, 

That chants the praise of Death, 

Which sets us free 
From, hopeless, mortal breath, 

And best, — from thee. 



;l.o?C.i 



"AND AFTER THE FIRE, A STILL 
SMALL VOICE" 

Praise to our mighty God 

And glory to our Lord 
Who Cometh not in earthquake, wind or fire ; — 

The earthquakes rend and shock. 

The tempests waste and mock. 
Not so doth God His children's hearts inspire. 

I cry "It is enough ; 

The road has grown too rough ; 
No better than my fathers, let me die ! " 

My mouth is in the dust, 

Jehovah is unjust ; 
Humbled and bruised and crushed, no help is nigh. 

When lo, a still small voice 

Murmurs, "Rejoice, rejoice; 
My child is not forsaken, not alone. 

The crucial earthquake shock. 

The fire and tempests' mock 
Have passed. Now God is come to claim His own. 

" To crush and rend apart 

Thy stubborn, stony heart 
The fire burned, the tempest rose amain, 

Suffering hath purged thy sin. 

Now God may enter in. 
And build His broken altars once again. 

" With tenderness profound 
He heals the bleeding wound. 
With stillness and with silence soothes the woe : 



84 



\ 



Thou has not suffered pain 
And agony in vain, 
My child, since they have taught I loved thee so ! 

Oh mercy infinite ! 

Divine compassion sw^eet ! 
The still small voice sounds singing in my soul. 

To God the only just, 

The heart's adoring trust 
I yield, nor fear to reach the heavenly goal. 



TO 



WITH FLOWERS IN WINTER 

The snowflakes bring a welcome from the sky, 

To greet this day, 
But lilies, roses, pinks and violets shy 

Can also say : 
'Our years are wrestling angels sent below 
Which ere they give their blessing must not go." 



THE SOUL'S COUNTERPART 

Where art thou, Love ? 

I feel thy presence, dear ; 

'Tis like a dream enchanted, thou art near, 

A spirit-brooding dove. 

Like to the Pantheist whose God is found 
In every shape of sky or air or ground. 
So I find thee in all I see or hear. 
Yet find thee never, — till I swoon with fear. 

And faint with heart-break lest my soul shall fail 
And die at last, before I rend the veil 
That hides thy visible form from my embrace. 
I cannot die, dear love, until I see thy face ! 
Where art thou, Love } 

My heart doth love thee so ! — yet cannot live 
Without thy heart to rest upon. Oh give 
Thy God-like form to me to see and hold ! 
To keep with me forever ! Chill and cold 
And deadly is this absence from my sight 
Of my most loyal, my ideal knight. 

My heart breaks to thee, — pouring out in woe. 
Like precious alabaster, what might flow 
Into thy being with such bliss, wouldst thou 
But come and claim and clasp and shield me — 
now ! 

Where art thou, Love ? 



86 



THE UNCOINED WORD 

There are no words for such a love as ours, 
The sacred silence hath a golden tongue 
Beyond all shallow speech. The stars that sung 
When a new heaven and earth made Eden bowers — 
Sang without words, — while from the rarest 

flowers, 
Silently was the purest incense flung. 
And love that from eternal heights has sprung 
Silently flows from the celestial powers. 
Yet were the barriers down, the ban unbound ; 
Could our two souls but close and melt in one ; 
Methinks some word ineffable were found 
To bind forever more what hath been done, 
While hindrance and while absence girt us 

round ; — 
And silence with some great, new word be 

crowned. 



37 



AFTER SONG 

" Heartily know 
When half gods go 
The gods arrive.^'' 

Song and sorrow, smile and sigh 
Come and go and live and die ; 
Souls in joy and souls in pain 
Live and die and live again. 
The one true love that comes at last 
Crovs^ns the future, ends the past. 



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